


A World of Pure Imagination

by AnotherAnon0



Series: Toxic [9]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24077218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: UBCS is deployed to Raccoon City. Nicholai carries out his mission.~The rifle scope distorted reality slightly. The world was all there, but a bit... off.For Nicholai, the little glass lens made him feel as though he was disassociated from the situation -- watching things through a screen.If he held his breath, ensuring none of the stench of rotting corpses or burning cityscape wafted into his nose, he could almost pretend it was a movie. A film. An event he was simply witnessing as a spectator. Uninvolved.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir
Series: Toxic [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718308
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	A World of Pure Imagination

_It had gotten easier and easier._

The rifle scope distorted reality slightly. The world was all there, but a bit... off. 

For Nicholai, the little glass lens made him feel as though he was disassociated from the situation -- watching things through a screen.

If he held his breath, ensuring none of the stench of rotting corpses or burning cityscape wafted into his nose, he could almost pretend it was a movie. A film. An event he was simply witnessing as a spectator. Uninvolved.

This part of the movie was starring a small group of petrified UBCS mercenaries, several stories below where the lens of the scope was panning over their anxiety-ridden, clammy faces. Some were wounded, clutching bloody, mangled body parts. They looked like sheep -- the horror of knowing the wolf was nearby etched into their psyche, exuding through every esoteric pore. 

The makeshift camera panned again, around the corner, a pack of dogs that weren't dogs. Simulacra of dogs. Flesh torn away to reveal muscle, teeth permanently bore through a lipless grimace. They were smelling the oil and blood-soaked cement. They knew.

"I will... spare you." Nicholai muttered.

In s _petsnaz,_ he had been taught that a good assassin should be able to fire shots between the beats of their heart, timed perfectly to the median of a casual breath. Sucking a deep breath through his nose, he began to count, and wait for the moment his breaths synchronised to the small drum beating louder and louder in his neck.

Six heartbeats and the mercenaries were dead. So fast, and only the last had noticed his friends' bodies were hitting the ground in a methodical patter.

_Cigarette._

_Nicotine._

The dogs attacked their feast with the same vigour he did the lighter that wouldn't produce even but a spark after half a dozen flicks of his thumb. Thankfully, he'd shoved a pack of matches in one of his other pockets before deployment.

_I am not an assassin._

_I am a monster._

~

Nicholai hated the look mercenaries cast over him when they spotted him. That look of fleeting relief.

Stalking into the tram, it was the young Brazilian who burdened him with that annoying gaze of hopefulness -- Carlos. A handsome, mop-headed _Romeo Montague_ -wannabe who had been a thorn in the side of any remotely attractive staffer -- female _and_ male -- at the Umbrella training facility since his arrival after the second wave of platoon repopulations. His affections so thinly spread, Nicholai had caught eyes exchanged between the young man and Sergei Vladimir himself, though he was sure the flirtatious mews shared between them, the brushes too close to be accidental, were no more than that... Hell, would the boy even have _survived_ one _interaction_ with the Colonel? Probably not.

_Stupid whore._

"Sergeant!" Carlos huffed a bright-white smile, "Glad to see you're still alive and... not un-dead." He tossed the can of First Aid Spray he had been holding to the side, and it clamoured to the floor with an empty tin. It rolled along the wooden planks of the aged tram, stopping when it collided with another can of Spray which had likewise been discarded.

Carlos cleared his throat, eyes washing over the pathetic form lying on the seats beside him, "He's getting worse, Sir..."

_I know that. It's all my fault._

Nicholai's eyes immediately grazed over the massive, bloody wound on Mikhail's side -- a wound that had been left after he'd shot the lock off of the flimsy gate that had been holding a small horde of ravenous zombies. It had been the only thing separating Mikhail and two of his men from the pack in the narrow alleyway Nicholai had spotted them in from where he had been stalking them from on the rooftop of a nearby building. While the two young men quickly fell, somehow the Captain managed to fight for his life and flee back to the safety of the tram. 

"Nic... Nicholai." 

A croak through pain, a gasp of breath that was barely there in a corpse that wasn't quite dead.

Nicholai shifted his footing cautiously, inching towards Mikhail with a look of pensive anxiety. It was a look Carlos, who was rummaging through the medic-kit for supplies, didn't quite miss as he kept his eyes on the older men through his peripheral vision. 

" _Chto by ty ni delal ... Ty ne obyazan eto delat_..." 

Nicholai cocked his head to the side, jaw clenching as he mulled over the words. Taking an aggressive breath through flared nostrils, he slowly dropped to his knee to be closer to the older man. Blue burned angrily against the cool, pain-hazy softness of green. The reply, a venomous hiss, was barely, breathily audible.

" _Ty ponyatiya ne imeyesh_."

Silence fell over the tram. Outside, the echo of the city reverberated through the cracked windows. 

"Hey!" Carlos chuckled amateurishly in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood and make sense of the situation, "A little consideration for the non-Russian, here." His youthful jubilance was cut short by a sharp glare from Nicholai, who quickly rose to his feet.

Not another word was spoken as he hastily moved out of the car and into the city. Behind him, Carlos was confusedly asking his Captain for clarification. 

"What the hell was that about?" faded into the distance rapidly. Nicholai paid no attention. 

_I'm sorry dyadya._

~

The light of the laboratory was blinding.

The white _too_ pristine.

The chrome, polished with an unfitting glean.

It all drew a sharp contrast against the abusive filth on the city streets Nicholai had stalked for what felt like centuries but had only been days.

" _Kolya_!" The voice bellowed through the room as he approached. As much as he hated to admit it, it was jovial, warm, familiar. "I am so happy to see you!"

Sergei was surrounded by a few suited minions who were hurriedly disconnecting computers, equipment, and packing documents. Umbrella was in a mad scramble to get out of Raccoon City with the U.M.F-013 under Sergei's watchful eye, and they were taking everything else they could while they were at it. 

"The entire city is going to be blown up in a matter of hours. There is no _happy_." Nicholai asserted flatly, monotone voice reverberating off of and through the disconnected laboratory equipment as he stopped short of the scene, keeping his distance from the frantic rush of information evacuation that seemed to become ever-so-slightly more frantic the moment he mentioned the bomb. A quick rummage in one of his utility belt's pockets, and a small disk was extracted and unceremoniously tossed towards one of the minions, who caught it haphazardly against his chest.

"It's all there."

The Colonel bellowed a hearty laugh, beaming a smile at the younger man as he quickly navigated around the equipment before him to close their distance. 

"My _Kolya_... so resilient." Sergei said, voice dropping to a breathy sigh when he was so close the toes of their boots were grazing, "How is it out there?"

"Hell."

A toothy grin. Sergei brought his hands to the younger man's face, thumbs caressing Nicholai's cheekbones with a slow delicacy.

"Any survivors?" 

"Not for long. I still have some work to do."

The grin pulled wider. Fingers danced gracefully along the pallor flesh.

_You treat me well when I destroy._

"Come, I brought you _wodka_." Sergei quickly scooped Nicholai's arm in his before the younger man had a chance to protest, hauling him to the back of the laboratory where a door leading to the rooftop airlift pad was propped open. Outside, a repurposed MilMi-26 was idling, having just been fit with the serpentine lengths needed to haul the monstrous U.M.F core.

The craft was empty, and Sergei closing the door behind them was an indication he wanted it to stay that way. 

"This is stupid..." Nicholai muttered, plopping down on the nearest bench without any hesitation regardless of his minute qualm, "I have so little time."

"You've done more than enough." Sergei smirked, pulling out the bottle of _moskovskaya_ from a leather satchel hanging nearby and handing it to the younger man, "Always such a good boy."

Nicholai couldn't deny the first swig tasted like heaven. He hadn't eaten in days, and bottles of water had been harder to come by than he'd thought. Sergei had warned him against drinking the city water long before he'd arrived. A small sigh escaped his lips when he lowered the bottle, one of sheer happiness in a moment of familiarity. 

"I can't drink too much. Unless you want me to die out there."

_Is that what you want?_

Sergei chuckled, "No, no." 

Taking a seat next to Nicholai, Sergei slid tightly against him until their sides were pressed against each other's. Thigh to thigh, waist to waist. A heavy arm found its way around Nicholai's shoulders, and a nose agains his temple. 

"What are you doing..?" The younger man murmured, taking a short swig of the delightful essence while trying to be mindful of how much he was drinking, "Not while I'm covered in blood and... zombie shit."

He could feel Sergei smiling against his cheek, "You've never looked more beautiful, _Kolya_."

_You're wearing that smell I like. It's been so long since you wore that smell._

A small kiss made its way to the corner of his eyebrow, where the scar the Colonel had given him started. A hand to the first buckle of his utility vest, then to the second.

"Not now, Sergei..."

Another kiss, this time to the corner of his lip, where the scar ended. A hand tugged down the zipper of his green fatigue, then slithered its way under the grey sweater he had beneath it.

" _Da_."

~

Raccoon City fell just before dawn. 

Nicholai knew he should have immediately followed the plans to begin his return to the Caucasus facility, but he couldn't help stopping along the way -- parking the commandeered helicopter on a distant rock face to watch the bomb fall. 

The radio worked. He didn't know what station to go to for proper American news, but random numbers seemed to demonstrate that everyone with a connection was talking about what had happened. He wasn't surprised that most all had incorrect details -- poorly crafted, politically correct narratives about a 'virus' that perhaps had _incapacitated_ people in one way or another. Contagious, tragic, deadly, but not _un_ -deadly.

Umbrella's doing, no doubt. The best public relations money can buy.

" _The President has determined the bacilllus-terminate operation to be the best course of action for this extreme situation and have since, executed it..."_

The last cigarette began to taste bitter.

" _Based on that fact, Raccoon City has literally been wiped off the map. Current reports have the death toll surpassing the 100,000 mark."_

Nicholai tapped the ashes onto the empty co-pilot's seat beside him, scoffing.

"They were already dead." he muttered to the radio in protest, shaking his head. For a moment, he wondered if the few who had consistently eluded him -- Carlos and the woman -- had finally wound up in the statistic.

For a moment. And then he stopped caring.

_"Our hearts go out to those poor civilians of Raccoon City."_

The helicopter roared to life. It was a few hours yet to the North Dakota-Canadian border where unmarked, Umbrella-owned vehicles were waiting for him on the outskirts of a dingy town in the middle of empty, forested no-where. 

Before taking off, Nicholai stopped to slip out of the green, UBCS-emblazoned fatigue he'd been wearing, standing to discard it through the narrow emergency window he had pried open for air before his smoke.

The cigarette butt that had been idly dying on the seat-turned-ashtray quickly followed, landing unceremoniously atop the pile of filthy green fabric that had fallen to the rocky earth below. 

Nicholai was internally resolving to call Sergei and complain if the rendezvous hadn't brought clean clothes and cigarettes. 

A smirk crawled across his lips.

_Or,_ _maybe I'll just shoot them all._

**Author's Note:**

> First! Translations:
> 
> In the tram, Mikhail says to Nicholai: "Что бы ты ни делал ... Ты не обязан это делать." Roughly, "Whatever you are doing, you don't have to do it." Nicholai responds "Ты понятия не имеешь." or, "You have no idea."
> 
> As noted in part 6, dyadya = Uncle. 
> 
> Second! The universe this takes place in is obviously the original/UC universe. The remake wasn't canon anyway (FUCK that shit). 
> 
> In UC, Sergei is shown to have gone to Raccoon City to retrieve the UMF013 during the outbreak. It is highly unlikely that wouldn't have been one of Nicholai's missions, too, considering he had been one of Sergei's minions, so perhaps he helped in some way. But either way -- Sergei was in the city! So it is canon, you see. I am not a liar. MY SHIPS ARE CANON DAMNIT. *COUGHS*
> 
> Third! The next part will likely be the last part!


End file.
